Page 26 of The Cowboy Who Stayed

My body is still humming, my legs still wrapped around his waist. The honest truth is Rhett Dawson is the best sex I’ve had in years—pretty much ever—and continuing to pretend otherwise is becoming an exhausting waste of energy.

“You are incredible in bed,” I say bluntly. “But this can’t keep happening.”

He steps back, gently untangling my legs from his waist. Yet I’m still trapped against the wall as he remains close enough to cage me in.

“Why not?” he asks.

“Because I’m much older than you.”

“You think I give a damn about that? Age is nothing but a number, Miss Vivica.”

“A little cliché…” I murmur. Then I sigh and run a hand through my wet pixie cut, my roots already returning to their kinkier curl pattern. “Besides, you work at the ranch and I work at the ranch. If people find out, it becomes a whole thing I’m not interested in dealing with.”

“Then we make sure they don’t find out. We keep it professional during the day. Nobody hears a word about it. And when we’re off the clock...” He gestures between us, then glances down at our trail of wet clothes scattered across the floor.

“A casual arrangement?”

“If that’s what you want to call it.”

“It’s exactly what I’d call it.” I bend down and snatch my shirt off the floor, tugging it back over my head.

The rational part of my brain tells me to end this right here before it becomes a situation I can’t walk away from.

But the part of me that screamed this man’s name only minutes ago is presenting a very persuasive counterargument.

The intense orgasms after such a long drought definitely help.

“Fine. But I have conditions.”

“Lay them on me.”

“Always here. My place,” I say plainly. “You don’t tell a soul—not Joaquin or the other ranch hands. Not a single person alive. We keep this completely separate from work, and I mean that.”

“Alright. Anything else?”

“I reserve the right to end it whenever I decide to, no questions asked.”

He holds my gaze for a beat, a flicker of conflict passing over his face. He disagrees with that last stipulation and it shows.

But he also seems to settle on what I do: We can’t resist each other and having even a part of me is apparently worth it.

“Whatever you want, Vivica,” he says. “Your rules. All of them. I’m good with that.”

I study his face for any trace of bullshit but find none. He’s being honest.

“Good,” I say, a small smile coming to my lips. “Then it’s settled.”

The arrangement works better than I expected it to.

At the ranch, nothing changes. I show up to do my rounds, checking on the animals and exchanging the same clipped, professional greetings with Rhett as I have since the beginning.

He plays his part flawlessly, responding with polite nods and casual greetings like, “Afternoon, doc.” He keeps his distance, choosing to forgo showing up in the horse stables when I’m there.

From the outside looking in, you’d never know my teeth were biting into his shoulder and his dick was buried deep inside me the night before.

It’s rinse and repeat for days. A routine I quickly appreciate.

It starts with him showing up at my door in the evening, a broad grin on his face and a twinkle in his eye. Within minutes it turns into him shedding his shirt and showing off his six-pack abs as we collapse on the couch.